


The Route From Just Me to Three

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek goes back to college, Dubious Consent due to mutual drunkenness, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Feels, Frayed Friendship, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, Lydia Leaves Beacon Hills, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mutual Pining, New York City, Platonic Bedsharing, Platonic Cuddling, Polyfidelity, Road Trips, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Triad M/M/F, but they talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 05:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their run-in with Sebastien Valet left Stiles and Lydia with life threatening injuries, Stiles decides that enough isenough. He has to get out of Beacon Hills before it killes him. When he learns that he's been accepted to a university in new York City, and that Lydia will be attending Columbia, they both arrange to graduate high school a semester early thanks to sufficient credits. </p><p>Derek, who has kept in touch with both Stiles and Lydia since he high-tailed it (no pun intended) out of town, invites them to share his condo in Long Island with him, and they jump on the chance.</p><p>The only problem?</p><p>Stiles is desperately in love with Derek, and now...recent events have brought what he thought were long since dissolved feelings for Lydia to the surface. Confused and worried about hurting one of his closest friends, he suffers alone. Until one night of heavy drinking changes things.</p><p>What is he going to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tunnel Vision

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the [WIP Big Bang over on Live Journal](http://wipbigbang.livejournal.com/).  
> The beautiful artwork was created by [Twisted Slinky](http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/) and the artpost can be found [here](http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/106312.html). Go stop by and leave some love for the gorgeous additions that add richness to my fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Content Warnings: There is a pretty graphic injury description with mentions of blood in the first chapter. There is also a scene with sex in which both parties are intoxicated. They do talk about it in later scenes, and though drunken consent isn't _really_ consent, they do both say they want to do proceed. I just wanted to make that clear. That is in scene 3 of chapter 5.

 

Stiles sputtered out a cough and immediately wished he hadn't. A searing pain, white hot like ignited phosphorous burned through his chest. He’d blacked out when his father's office window shattered from the force of the rifle blast. Somehow, he’d wound up flat on his back atop Parrish’s desk.

The foot long shard of glass sticking out of his chest hampered his attempt to sit up. Abrasive emergency alarms filled the air around him while the auxiliary lights flickered . No one would have been able to hear his his scream of agony and fear (it was mostly fear) hadn’t. He was probably alone in the station. Everything he’d ever learned about first aid told him to leave the glass in and not to try and pull it out. That way lay the road to an exacerbated injury, but fuck if his adrenaline and panic fueled brain was at all rational.

Newsflash. It wasn’t.

Instead, his hand had closed around the piece of window sticking out of his chest just right of his sternum. With pain worse than he’d ever felt coursing through his body with every breath, he didn’t register the extra ache when the glass sliced open his palm as he pulled. Once it was free, he expected to be able to breathe a little freer without the pull of the glass on his wound. But no. It was worse.

So much worse.

His chest felt tight like a vice, but he had to get out of there and get to cover. He rolled off the desk, hitting the floor with a less than graceful thud. Another cough forced it’s way out of him, and he stared in horror for a moment at the splatter of blood on the floor. Shit. That was bad.

Then, a flash of green in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. Lydia.

It felt like he was crawling through a bed of razor blades as he dragged himself towards her. As long as he lived, he was never going to get used to or even accept seeing his friends lying in a pool of their own blood. It had happened far too many times for him lately. First, it was Boyd (though the water on the floor helped to hide that fact), then Allison, and... Derek. Seeing him propped up at an awkward angle with deep wounds littering his torso, Derek begged Stiles to leave and find Scott. That one? That one hurt the most.

There was nothing quite like realizing you were in love with someone as they were dying. Then the fucker--bless his beautiful damn face--went werewolf Jesus on everyone and resurrected himself before he hightailed it the hell out of Beacon Hills. Stiles hadn’t seen him since, with only a handful of text messages shared between them.

Now, here he was, looking at Lydia, in a similar state for the second time in a couple months. His terrible luck seemed to laugh at him once more. Because, this was a repeat of Derek all over again. He thought he’d gotten over her, that his little crush had moved past infatuation to a deep platonic love, but fuck if anything he thought about himself ever turned out to be true. Somehow, that silly obsession had turned to true friendship. Once more he’d totally missed the road signs that said, ‘Stiles, you’re in love’. This right here was the straw that broke his back. He had reached his ability to process and cope with this shit.

He was done.

His vision tunneled in on him sort of the way it did whenever his character was about to bleed out in a video game; everything had gone gray, high in contrast and altogether alarming. “Lydia,” he called, or at least he thought he did. All that actually managed to come out was a garbled couple of syllables gasped out and barely audible.

All he wanted was a full breath of air, but it was impossible.

“I’m…” Lydia’s voice trailed off as she slipped into unconsciousness. The hand she’d clamped to the wound on her her neck fell away.

With his own tenuous hold on consciousness failing, he reached out and pressed his hand to her neck, using everything he had to keep pressure on it. It had to work. It _would_ work. She’d be okay.

He was not sure he’d survive it if she didn’t.

Minutes ticked by, passing so slowly it was like years, millennia even. All he was aware of was the way he felt like he was drowning. He wanted to open his mouth to suck in deep lungfuls of air. So he did; he opened his mouth and let the water in. Hell, air might as well have been water for all the good it did when he tried to breathe.

God he hoped help was on the way. If not, he prayed it wasn’t his dad that found them.

That counter that always appeared on screen in video games, counting down the time until you died? Well, Stiles swore he could see the countdown flashing in his field of vision as the black tinges on the edges of his vision closed in on him.

Five

Four

Three

Two

One

 

 

 

 


	2. Sutured

A steady beeping pulled Stiles out of the black. Joining the tone was a hiss, just as constant but quieter and less obvious. A faint, murmur of voices filtered into the room. There was a heavy weight upon his hand, warm and reassuring: a comfort.

He licked his lips without opening his eyes. The slight sting brought out by the roughness of his tongue told him his lips were chapped. Too chapped, and his mouth was bone dry, arid like the Sahara. Thirsty, he was so thirsty. Though he longed to drift back into the black where, for once, it felt safe instead of nebulous and threatening, the need for a drink was more pressing.

His eyelids fluttered open, slowly and uncoordinated--he wasn’t even sure both eyes opened at the same time. For all he knew, he looked like a drunk trying to wink. The room began to come into focus, first through the fringe of his lashes, then, then through a haze of sleep, until he found himself staring at the inside of a hospital room. Of course. The beeping and hiss made perfect sense now. There was a cannula in his nose, and he felt a bit high from the oxygen... and probably the pain meds. Still, an ache remained, less in intensity, but just as present.

He fumbled around on the bed for a call button to get a nurse.

“Son, you’re awake!” his father’s voice filled him with an immense sense of relief that for a brief moment, he forgot he was in pain.

Stiles turned his head to see his dad sitting in the chair beside him, his face covered in at least two days worth of stubble. His unkempt and rumpled clothes evidenced a constant vigil at his son’s bedside. “Dad... Daddy.” He winced at the roughness of his voice. It sounded like he’d swallowed sandpaper, and it was small and broken like that of a child’s. In many ways though, after his most recent ordeal, it was as though he was a little kid again. He was desperate for the reassuring hug of a parent and a one way ticket out of town. “Water.”

John smoothed the hair out of Stiles’ forehead and pressed a straw to his lips. The water felt like nectar on his tongue. “God you had me worried there, son.”

“Sorry,” he said, his voice tinged with tears. “I tried, but- I don’t even know what happened.”

Something in his father’s face told him that he didn’t really want to know. “I should have been there with you. If I had, maybe you wouldn’t be in here.”

“Or maybe you’d be dead.” That was a hypothetical he couldn't stomach

“When that call came over the radio about shots fired at the station, I raced over as quickly as I could, but I was all the way across town. By the time I got there, they were already wheeling both of you out of the station and into the ambulance. They had to MediFlight you both to Sacramento.”

Both? His brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to remember what happened before he’d blacked out in the station, but medication still clouded his head, and he just... oh.

“Lydia, is she- is she okay?”

His father’s mouth drew into a tight line. “She lost a lot of blood, but once they got a couple units back into her, she came around. They think she should be fine. You, on the other hand...”

In that moment, flashes of the glass window blowing out beside him, flooded into his mind. He scrambled to pull down the collar of his hospital gown so he could look at his chest.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy. Let me sit you up. I want you to tell me if it’s too much. Don’t try to tough it out.” John picked up the controls and raised the head of the bed.

Stiles coughed out in agony. Yet, once the movement of the bed stopped, he found himself relieved to find that so did the pain. Or at the least, it subsided. His dad reached behind him to untie the neck of his gown and helped him to pull it off his shoulders.

He was almost afraid to look down, but morbid curiosity got the better of him. A large bandage covered the center of his chest. Coming out the right side of his ribcage was a tube. “What…”

“That’s a chest tube, to drain the remaining fluid from your lung. The glass punctured your lung. That’s why you had passed out, from insufficient oxygen. They had to go in and repair the damage. You’re lucky. That piece of glass came within millimeters of your heart,” John’s voice cracked.

“How long does this stay in?”

“Until the fluid is all out. You’ll be in here a couple weeks.”

Stiles nodded his head and grabbed the bed control to lie back down. He stared up at the ceiling and tried not to cry. “I can’t-”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to over-exert yourself.”

No, that wasn’t what he meant at all. Silently, he counted to ten and backwards to one several times. “I mean...I can’t keep doing this.”

“You’re telling me. Every time you get hurt I swear I age another five years.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“No, don’t worry about me.” His dad squeezed his hand.

“I need to get out of here.”

“You have to stay in here at least two weeks. I just told-”

“Beacon Hills. I can’t stay in this town. Dad, I know I said I wanted to stay close for school. I don’t anymore. I need to get out.” He took a deep breath. “I feel like I’ve been on the verge of a mental breakdown since the nogitsune, and this was the last straw. This town is gonna kill me, and if you could get the hell out of here too, that would be great.”

Beside him, his father sighed. “I know; I’ve known that for a while.”

Stiles looked on in confusion as his father reached into the pocket of his jacket. Confusion that did not subside when his dad pulled out several pieces of mail. “Wha…”

John set the mail on Stiles’ lap. “Those came in the mail a few days ago. I checked the box on my way to work, and forgot about them in the cruiser.”

As he sifted through his letters, Stiles could see they all came from schools to which he’d applied. In light of recent events, he didn’t bother opening the two for the Sacramento schools or Sierra Nevada College. In fact, even San Francisco wasn’t far enough to stop the ticking time bomb that was his sanity from exploding. Neither was LA.

Just the letter from Pace University, his mother’s alma mater, remained. He’d only applied on a whim because she’d gone there. Yet, right then as he sat recovering in an ICU bed, Pace seemed to be the only option worth considering. His fingers, though, couldn’t seem to open the envelope. Too stiff with disuse he figured. “Hey, Pops? Help a patient out?”

His dad took the letter from him, turning it over in his hands. Stiles was sure there were unshed tears in his father’s eyes when he saw where the letter was from. “That’s...New York is really far away. Are you...I-” He went silent as he ripped open the envelope and began to read. “You, um, you got in. Got a pretty good scholarship too. I just wish it wasn’t all the way across the country. How can I make sure you keep your over curious butt out of trouble?”

He felt something loosen in his chest, or maybe just lifted off his shoulders. It didn’t take him much more than a second or two to realize it was the feeling of a way out. Maybe the further he was from the Nemeton, the less he’d feel that darkness around his heart.

You know, the one that he and Scott seemed to pretend no longer existed the moment Scott bit the Nogitsune?

And what a foolish thing that was to do too, pretending it wasn’t there. Stiles woke up every morning _well_ aware of it. There was no right side of the bed for him anymore; all sides were equally bad. He’d always had a short fuse, but it was seldom more than little snippy comments bordering on sardonic. Lately though…

See, this was exactly what happened when a huge chunk of your support system gets ripped away.

“Dad,” he said, his voice cracking, “I have to. I can’t be here in this town or anywhere near it for much longer. It’s not because of you; don’t blame yourself, and don’t think I’m doing this to get away from you. Believe me, I have spent the better part of the last two years doing everything I can to keep you safe from all this shit. If I could drag you away from here, I would.”

John patted his knee, and Stiles could see  what his dad really wanted to do was wrap him in the tightest hug he could. “I’m going to go grab a bite in the cafeteria. Would you like me to get you something?”

Stiles shook his head, his appetite having not yet returned. “No, thanks.”

As he watched him walk out of his hospital room, Stiles tried not to feel anything other than guilty for considering--no, he’d already decided--on school in New York.

 

***

 

Lydia fussed with the frayed edge of the blanket draped over her lap as her mom pushed her down the hall towards Stiles’ room. Only five minutes ago had the doctors even cleared her to be up and about. She was desperate for a change of scenery. Her mother, however, was not happy with her choice of destination.

“I know he’s your friend, but your life started to go downhill as soon as you became friends with Allison. It got worse with the addition of Scott and Stiles. I would feel much better if you could just... find new ones. You were always so good at that.”

It thrilled her that from where she sat, her mother could not see the exaggerated eye roll she gave her. “Not your choice to make, Mom. Besides, most of the people I have been ‘friends with’,” she said, holding up her air quotes high enough for her mom to see, “didn’t know me. They only liked the way I played dumb. People don’t like feeling like an idiot, which they are around me. Stiles, he…gets me.”

Gets wasn’t even a strong enough word for the turn their friendship had taken. For all Parrish’s good qualities (charm, handsomeness, his need to protect), he just didn’t challenge her intellectually. Even without an IQ over 170, Stiles was clever, and sharp. His ‘perceptive eye for evil’ as he called it and the way he prided himself on being the one with the plan, spoke to her logical and mathematical mind. She had long since determined that his random rambling was, in fact, just the opposite. He used it to distract, deflect, and confuse, sometimes all three, and often on purpose. And he was brave. Though he had no advanced training, no supernatural strength or skills, he had repeatedly put himself in danger for her sake. That was the kind of friend she needed more of, to be honest. They all did.

She had pretended all those years when he’d followed her around like a lost puppy, that she didn’t notice or even know who he was, but she did. He’d always been smart. That much  _anyone_  could find out just by talking to him, so long as they were able to keep up and wade through the rambling.

It was just his inability to focus combined with a terminal curiosity, impulsiveness, and above average intelligence that made him hard to be friends with. For most people.

Once she got to know him, and once he quit fawning over her, things got better. He was able to see her for the person she actually was, and she was able to see he was more than his shortcomings. They worked well together, had become true friends.

And yet…

Seeing him in that hospital bed, with more machines than even she’d needed hooked up to him, twisted something in her gut. She knew the purpose each device served (of  _course_  she did). The whole picture it painted, him lying there so pale and still with wires and tubes connected in several places, did little to help her nerves and the nagging words at the forefront of her mind.

Weeks before the incident at the station she’d made up her mind. She was getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible. Why she’d even stayed for the extra school year was beyond her. It was stupid really, a poor life choice that she regretted at this point.

As it stood, she called the school yesterday when her mother ducked down to the cafeteria for lunch and informed them she would be graduating at the end of the semester. She’d cited health reasons--mental health reasons--and they’d given her the go ahead.

She wondered if her dad would give her money for a plastic surgeon to fix the mess of scars she was now covered with. A side-effect of the Northern Californian public high school system. Probably. That’s all he was ever good for since the divorce: throwing money at the problem.

“Thank you. Could you leave us alone please, Mom?” She asked over her shoulder, waiting for the door to close behind her before speaking.

Stiles was sleeping, so she didn’t think he’d even know she was there, but she took his hand anyway. It was strange. For all the comforting, platonic hugs they’d shared over the last year, she’d never held his hand. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she noticed he had some big ass hands.

When asked by the doctors if she’d known what happened to her, she said she didn’t remember. She lied. She remembered everything from the moment she’d first heard shouting to Stiles’ warm and too large hand clamping over the gash in her neck as her blood pooled on the floor. She remembered the inhuman glint in Sebastien Valet’s eyes when he stalked toward her, his clawed hand ready to strike. She remembered the screaming, breaking glass, the unevenness in Stiles’ breathing, the shaky way his words fell from his lips, and the sound of them dying out before they reached her ears. The rasp, the gurgle, and splutter...the coughing and pink froth upon his blue-tinged lips.

She shuddered, squeezing his hand a little harder than she’d intended, because he roused from his sleep, rubbing his eyes to focus them.

“Lydia?” He fumbled for the controls to his bed. “Should you be up and around? Is everythi-” When he tried to sit up, having had no luck locating the remote, she lay a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“I’m fine. I was going stir crazy in my room. How are you feeling? My mom wouldn’t tell me anything about your condition. I had to bribe Scott.”

He winced when her joke pulled a paltry attempt at a laugh from him. “Ouch,” he hissed.

“How many sutures did they give you?”

He shrugged. “Twenty something. I try not to look when they change my dressings. I’ll need more when they take this tube out of my chest.”

She could sit and discuss their injuries, prevent the inevitable, where she told him that yet another person he cared about was leaving, or she could rip off the bandage. Being the practical type of woman she was, she chose the latter. “I’m going to Columbia. They gave me a full ride.”

He nodded, and a tiny smirk begin to pull on the corner of his lips. “That’s fantastic. I’m proud of you. Good way to keep working towards that Field’s Medal. Honestly, I thought for sure you’d go to MIT.”

“I thought about it. I like New York better.”

He withdrew his hand from hers and began to play with a loose thread in his blanket, picking at it as though it were a compulsion, until the snag had given way to a small hole before he said anything else. “I...got accepted to Pace University. I only need to find a way to cover a quarter of the tuition. No problem.”

“You didn’t tell me about applying there.”

He did that squinty eye thing that she knew was his silent equivalent to stating ‘ _Pot meet kettle_ ’.

“Right. I’m being hypocritical. You going to go t-”

“Yes,” his reply came with as much force and conviction as his condition would allow. “Beacon Hills hasn’t felt like home for a while now. Besides, now that Scott has a true pack of three... I’m just excess baggage now, a liability. I don’t bring much to the table it seems. I know we made up, but our friendship isn’t the same. He hasn’t said anything. So I don’t even know if he notices it; he always was a little unobservant. I feel it though. Something broke, and it is never going to be the same.” He licked his lips and swallowed hard, nodding his head in that way he did to convince himself that he was right in his thinking. Or to at least convince himself that his feelings were valid. “If we found an apartment and lived together, we’d be able to find a much nicer place than either- well than  _I_  would be able to afford otherwise.”

She weighed her words carefully. “Have you told him yet?”

“Who? My dad? Yeah, he knows. Scott? No, he doesn’t.” She leveled him with her best ‘no bullshit’ stare. “Oh you mean, have I told Derek I nearly died... _again_? No. I don’t even know what I would say. He’d just come back to Beacon Hills and drop his new life, wherever that is now, only to get sucked back in. I don’t want that for him. I want him to be happy and alive.”

She reached over and finally put an end to his compulsive picking at the blanket. “I’m certain he wants that for you too.”

“Yeah maybe.” He didn’t sound too sure of his answer.

“Send him a text. At least tell him you got into a good school. He’ll be proud of you.”

“You know, so long as I pass all my classes this semester... I don’t have to come back for my last semester. I guess those impulsive extra courses I took over the summer after freshman year weren’t as pointless as I thought they were.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway behind her tore her attention away from Stiles. She turned around to see her mother tapping her watch. “I feel fine, Mom. You don’t need to hover. I know my limits. I am just sitting here, in my wheelchair, talking.” When she could see her mom was not going to budge, she huffed her displeasure. She gave Stiles’ hand a light squeeze, one he returned in earnest. Honestly, if she thought her mother wouldn’t have an aneurysm, she’d have stood and kissed Stiles’ forehead. He sure looked like he could use a warm embrace.

“Don’t chicken out. Just do it. Call him this time.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll try and convince a nurse to wheel me down here later after my mom leaves to check on the house.”

He smiled at her, closed-mouth, yet soft and endearing. “Get some rest, Lyds.”

Out in the hallway, she groaned. “Mom, I know you are just being a mother bear right now, but I was fine. A little friendly conversation is  good for both of us.”

Her mom did not take the bait, and remained silent all the way back to Lydia’s room.

 

***

 

The late afternoon sun filled his hospital room with a soothing glow, a warm mix of pink and orange hues. It looked like a dream. Well, it would look like a dream if his experience with subconscious images lately didn’t look like they’d come right out of a classic monster film. The television in his room played a rerun of the Kings game versus the Warriors from the night before. He’d never been much of a fan of basketball, but he took the programming as a sign, fumbling for his phone where it sat on the table next to his bed.

Though the number was saved to his contacts, he knew it by heart, his thumb swiping over the buttons without even sparing a moment’s thought. Seconds ticked by, the ringing on the other end like fire alarm. No, it better than that, like the sound of a foghorn on a ship bound for shore, calling him home. As he waited for his call to connect, Stiles realized just how true that sentiment was.

He wasn’t exactly sure when that had happened or if it was just a by-product of his current health, but it was true. The moment Derek’s voice came through the line, Stiles felt something settle in his chest.

“Stiles? Everything okay?”

Why- oh right. They only texted lately, Stiles too afraid that the direness of their situation in Beacon Hills would be clear in his voice. He steeled himself and focused on his breathing, willing himself to sound as strong and steady as possible. “Sure. Yeah. We’re all good here, Derek.”

“Uh huh.”

He could tell Derek did not quite believe him, but thankfully, did not press the issue. “I was just- Well Lydia said I should call you, because you’d like to know.”

“Did she now?”

“Yes. But I’ll get to that. How are you?”

There was a brief pause as though Derek were trying to decide whether to call out Stiles’ sad attempt to change the subject. “I’m doing well. Busy. Finals week is coming up, and I’d forgotten just how stressful that can be.”

Finals? Derek was back in school? Why hadn’t he mentioned that in any of their prior texts? It seemed like the kind of safe information the two of them had agreed upon. Stiles had told him he didn’t want to know where he was, which was good because Derek? Didn’t want to tell him where he was either. Stiles had told him that he wanted him to stay the hell away from Beacon Hills. At the time, Derek had scoffed at him insulted, but Stiles clarified that he just wanted him safe and happy. Beacon Hills had brought him nothing but pain. So, while their texts were friendly in nature, important details were always left off. It was better that way.

But surely Derek could have mentioned he’d gone back to school without saying where.

“I didn’t know you went back to college.”

“Huh. I could have sworn I told you that. I decided to finish my degree. It kind of well, you know, got put on hold after Laura died.”

“Yeah, I understand that. So, funny you should bring up college. That’s why I called. I, um, got into Pace. That’s in New York. My mom’s alma mater.”

“I know where it is. That’s a great school, Stiles. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. Well, Lydia’s going to Columbia. So we’re going to find a place. Get the hell out of this shitstorm of a town as soon as possible,” he said with more force than he intended, drawing a hiss of pain from his lips.

“Stiles? I know you’re not okay. What’s that beeping sound?”

No sense lying now. “If I tell you, do you promise not to come back and let this mess suck you in again?”

“Yes,” Derek said with conviction.

“Things aren’t going so well around here. Where should I start? Let’s see, Malia teamed up with Braeden, but you probably already knew that.”

“I did not know that, actually. Braeden and I haven’t spoken in months.”

Huh. Well how about that. Yet another thing that didn’t show up in text conversations. “Dude, I told you when Malia and I broke up.”

“Stiles, Braeden and I weren’t together. That was sex.”

“Right,” he ignored the way he felt his chest tighten at Derek’s confession. “So, Malia thought it was a fantastic idea--totally  _not_  fantastic by the way--to go after her mom. You know, the infamous assassin. Cause that always turns out well. Those Dr. Mengele wannabes, the Dread Doctors, remember them? Yeah well they managed to bring the Beast of Gevaudan back to life, and well wasn’t he just the most pleasant person ever!” Even over the phone, Stiles could not stop talking with his hands. His chest burned in protest of his movements. “Son of a bitch,” he winced and said through clenched teeth. “The Desert Wolf and the Beast both decided to attack the Sheriff’s station at the same damn time, and well...Lydia and I were caught in the middle.” He took a moment to calm down, pulling as deep a breath as he could manage without hurting himself into his lungs. “That beeping sound would be a pulse oximeter and continuous vitals monitoring machine.”

“You’re in the hospital?” The note of alarm in Derek’s voice was evident even through the phone.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“Your face is doing that clenched jaw, furrowed-brow thing it does when you’re worried and want to help. Don’t.even.think.about.it. You are  _not_  going to come back here. You can’t. You’re finally free. Please.”

Silence settled over the call, silence which lasted several moments before Derek replied with a shaky, “Okay. Is it serious?”

“Meh, not anymore. Or at least I think I’m doing better. Lydia took some wolf claws across the throat. She’s mending well. And I got the tube taken out of my chest yesterday. So there’s that.”

“What?”

“I got hit with a massive shard of glass that punctured a lung caused something with fluid in my lungs or some shit like that. I don’t know. I’m heavily medicated.”

“So...New York?”

“Way to change the subject, D. I’m proud of you, young padawan. You’re learning from the master of avoidance. Yes. My dad sent my letter committing to Pace yesterday. I submitted my request for graduation in December. Figure I can work six months to save up as much money as I can to cover cost of living before I start classes next fall.”

He heard Derek click his tongue a couple times the way he did when he was working through indecision. “I’m going to NYU.”

Stiles felt his brain short circuit, and for a moment felt the world spinning around him. “You’re in Manhattan?”

“I mean I live in Long Island City, but yeah. Laura bought us a condo when she brought us to New York. I kept it after she died. It um… has three bedrooms. So, I mean, and no pressure, but it’s a nice place. Clean building, controlled entry, safe neighborhood. If you and Lydia wanted, I have the space for you. I don’t have a mortgage or anything, so you wouldn’t need to help with rent. Maybe just utilities, maybe not even then.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “You... you’re in New York…” he felt himself beginning to shake. So many times, he’d wanted to know where Derek was because he missed him, and just knowing would have helped. But held fast to his statement that he did not need to know. Now though, he’d been offered a place to live. He’d get to see him everyday. Honestly, that could either be the greatest thing that ever happened to him...

Or the worst.

“I mean, you don’t have to. Just an option.”

“No, that’s um,  generous, Derek. I’ll have Lydia call you. Since you two don’t entirely hate each other.”

“I don’t hate Lydia at all. We’re friends. We text on occasion. Though she subscribed to the same belief about where I was as you did.”

He licked his lips. “Thanks, Derek. I... can I just say I really fucking miss you? It was good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah. I miss you, too. Get well. You have college to attend.”

Stiles ended the call with a massive grin on his face.

“I know that look,” his dad said as he walked into Stiles’ hospital room. “So... how’s Derek?”

“What? How did you... You know what? I’m not even going to pretend I don’t understand how you knew that. He’s good. Working on finishing his degree at NYU. Offered Lydia and I a place to live.”

John sat down in the chair next to the bed, handing Stiles a cookie and a bottle of juice. “Picked these up for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to take him up on the offer?”

“Yeah, I mean I need to talk to Lydia, but yeah, I think I am.”

 

 


	3. Goodbyes

Stiles wedged his box of movies in the space underneath Lydia’s desk. They’d managed to get everything they were bringing to fit in one moving van. Though he was not quite sure how, seeing as her things took up three fourths of the space. Then again, he erred against bringing any furniture other than his small entertainment stand for his TV and XBox. According to Derek, both their rooms already had a bed, nightstand and small bookcase. There was no need to bring anything else.

“This is the last box from your room,” John said, coming up behind him.

Stiles did not fail to notice the dampness in his father’s eyes as he handed over the box of mementos Stiles had saved over the years. Things like ticket stubs and small memorabilia; random Geekery--as he liked to call it--; and photos of his friends, dad... mom. He clutched the wooden box, hardly bigger than a cigar box, to his chest. The decoupaged comic pages were coming up at the edges, but he couldn’t bear to replace it. After all, he and his mother had decorated it together.

He huffed out a breath of warm air and watched it cloud up in the chilly morning air. New Year’s was last week, and to his surprise, his father had thrown him a going away party. Though small, everyone important in his life had attended. Every one... except Derek.

Still buzzed on the bottles of champagne Lydia had snuck out of her father’s wine cellar over Christmas, he’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling a little after midnight and all the guests had gone. His phone blinked beside him on the nightstand, and he unlocked the screen to see a missed call and a text from Derek.

_From: Derek_

_09:03 pm_

_Happy New Year, Stiles. You’re probably at a party, but stay safe. I swear I won’t stay away if you end up in the hospital again._

He had stared at the screen for several minutes making sure he’d read it correctly. Then, in a moment of drunken weakness, he called Derek, who of course didn’t answer with it being three in the morning in New York. He left no less than four slurred voicemails, the contents of which he didn’t remember, nor had Derek told him, but he sure as hell remembered calling.

Stiles suspected Derek was pretending the voicemails did not exist. To be fair, he was doing a bit of the same.

“You ready, kiddo?”

Stiles took a deep breath, turning to look up at the house in which he’d called home for the last eighteen years. A heaviness settled in his chest with the realization that he likely would never call it home again. “Yeah. I think I am.” He pressed the button on the side of his phone to illuminate the screen. “Scott is on his way here from work. I promised we would wait to leave until he got here.”

John sat down on the curb, patting the space beside him. Stiles took a seat next to him, willing himself not to let his emotions of leaving his dad alone get the best of him. “You know, I remember the day we brought you home like it was yesterday,” he said as he draped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “You sure were a noisy baby.”

Stiles shook his head, giving him a soft chuckle.

“Not much of a crier. Just a chatty, chubby, little guy. You had this wide-eyed wonder it seemed all the time. I suppose though, having eyes as big as yours led to that expression being more obvious. But you would just babble at us, having these entire conversations with us that neither your mom nor I could understand a word of. I could always tell when it was important, because you’d get this crease between your eyebrows, and you’d look so serious,” he paused, rubbing his chin. “Where was I going with this?”

“You’re asking  _me_  that? I hardly know where most of _my_ trains of thought are going.”

“Touché. I guess... Well, I’m proud of you. It hasn’t been easy, not by a long shot, but you made it, and though I’m gonna miss you like crazy-”

“Dad, we can Skype all the time.”

“That’s... that’s not the same, and you know it isn’t. A Skype conversation is not a hug.”

“Yeah. I know..”

John squeezed Stiles’ shoulder, tugging him into his side. “I’m glad you’re doing this, getting out of here. I’ve watched too many kids die in the town, and I swear to God, every time a call about a dead body came through dispatch, I worried it would be you. Stay safe in New York. Remember those self-defense classes.” He scoffed. “It wouldn't surprise me if Hale followed the two of you to your classes every day.”

“He has class, too.”

John was quiet for a long minute. “Be brave. I mean it.”

“Dad, I  _am_  brave. I run with wolves and fight supernatural bad guys, frankly  _way_  too often for my liking to tell you the truth.”

“Not what I meant. You’re a good person, a bit caustic and an asshole sometimes, but you care about protecting your friends, which often comes at your own expense. Sometimes ‘your expense’ means you show up with another nice bruise and a well calculated lie about how you got it, and other times, it’s your heart that suffers.”

Stiles opened his mouth to steer the conversation in another direction, but his dad cut him off.

“I’ve been a cop a long time, Stiles. I’m good at reading people. Supernatural beings not so much, but people and human intentions I’m a pro at by now. I know what people look like when they’re pining. So when I say be brave, I mean about that.”

Stiles licked his lips. “And if I can’t be brave because I don’t know what to do?”

“You deserve to have someone love you back for once.”

He stared at an indeterminate spot on the ground. “Yeah.” The sound of Scott’s dirt bike coming down the street, caught his attention. He looked up just in time to see Scott come to a stop and remove his helmet.

Scott took a look around, the moving van closed up and ready to go. Lydia was currently inside the Stilinski residence, packing the cooler with the food she’d picked up at the store on her way over to Stiles’ house this morning. Standing, awkward in his posture, Scott looked down at him as if he’d planned on saying something.

Stiles stood, using his father for support; he was not 100% yet, and it still took too much effort to do some of his everyday tasks on occasion. He tried to avoid making full eye contact with him, because he knew, God did he know, that one look at Scott, and that perfected puppy dog stare would make him question his plans. “Go ahead and spit it out, man.”

“Are you leaving because of me?”

Wow. Loaded question much? Stiles worried his bottom lip between his teeth. How could he answer this as truthfully as possible without actually saying that yes, the events surrounding their falling out and how Scott never did own up to any mistakes he’d made played a hand. The ‘ _You trusted him too_ ,’ Scott had thrown at him when all he’d wanted to do in that moment was leave and try to find anything that might help his dad. Stiles had to bite his tongue, drawing blood, in that moment to not yell back, ‘ _When_?’. Because if there was one thing Stiles had done right in that whole Dread Doctor fiasco, it was to not trust Theo. But, such was the way Scott’s brain worked. Stiles couldn’t fault him; it was the way he was after all.

And... Stiles was partly to blame for the way Scott avoided taking responsibility for things. For years, Stiles had built him up in his head, as this infallible person, taking the punishment for so many things they’d both been culpable for. Why?

Shitty self-esteem issues he supposed.

It was easy to take blame when you didn’t like yourself. Hard to have self-preservation, when you internalized so much self-loathing. Self, self, self... wow- he was on a roll today. Where was he going with this? Right.

“Well... things were said, mistakes were made, vicious circle.”

“Stiles, that’s not an answer.”

“No. No, it isn’t. But that’s what I’m sticking with. Besides, it’s just college. I mean, since the ‘vision’ fell completely the fuck apart--not like any of you were all that on board with my meticulous planning anyway--it wasn’t like college wouldn’t separate us all soon anyway.”

Scott ran a hand through his hair. “But...it feels like you’re running away.”

_Well grab a knife and cut my heart out, why don’t you._  “I’m running away to school. The school that gave me the biggest scholarship, by the way. You are going to UC Davis, which is what was best for you. I’m doing the same. And, don’t forget, Lydia is also running away to school. Or is it only a problem if I go? Columbia too much of an opportunity to pass up, but I should stay?” He sighed. This was going to get bad quickly if he didn’t take a step back. “That... all came out wrong. This is the best choice for me, Scott. Look at what has happened to me, the breakable, fragile human, in the last year and a half. Wouldn’t you go?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, guilt coloring his words. “You’re right, I guess.”

Stiles pulled him into a hug, because it seemed easier than actually looking at him anymore. “Besides, you’ve still  _got_  me. You need help? If things get too bad to handle, call.” Not that he believed that Scott would reach out to him, not with Mason around to do research and everyone else in the pack stronger than him now.

He swallowed hard, pushing back that heavy pang of sadness and envy at the realization that he couldn’t even remember the last time anyone truly needed him. His dad, he supposed, after Theo had attacked him, but then... his father had managed to call for help despite his precarious position.

So it had to be Derek... in that pool. Maybe Derek again the night Boyd died. He was the only one the guy let close enough that night to touch him.

“You’ll be safe?” he asked, breaking the hug and stepping back.

“Yeah. We’re gonna be living with Derek. He is probably even in contact with a local pack. So, we will be just fine.” By the look on Scott’s face, Stiles knew he’d forgotten to mention that fact. “I guess that must have slipped my mind in the chaos that was getting graduation in order. Sorry.”

“He’s in New York?”

Yes.”

“And you’re going to be living with him? But you don’t even like each-”

Stiles held up a hand to halt Scott’s confusion. “Stop. Just stop right there. We do, in fact, like each other. We are friends. We text. We talk. We’ve  _been_  doing that since he ran himself ragged trying to help during that whole Nogitsune mess. I know you are unobservant to a fault sometimes, but surely, you  _had_  to know that.”

Scott shrugged. “Sure didn’t look like it, with the bickering and all.”

“Bicker- You know what, I won’t even get into it. It’s a long story, and I don’t know if you want to hear all the details anyway, but I like Derek okay?”

Like was not a strong enough word for it, if he was being honest, but he didn’t need to get into that either.

Scott clapped him on the back. “Well, it must be nice for you. You know, living with Lydia. Maybe your crush will get somewhere finally. It’s got to be easy when you’re around her everyday.”

“Yeah, easy. Living in close quarters with,” he said, his voice wavering and dropping in volume and clarity, “two people you’re in love with who, so far, have shown zero hints of romantic inclination in your favor, is so fucking easy a child could do it.” By the end of his little rant, his words were barely above a whisper, a grumble.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Doesn’t matter. Not that big a deal.” He hugged him again. “You take care of yourself, yeah? And keep an eye on my dad?”

“I will. I promise. Drive safe.”

Stiles gave him a nod as Scott drove off. Then, he smacked himself in the forehead because he’d forgotten to tell him Lydia was inside. Shit.

“You ready?” And speak of the devil.

He turned around, and rushed up to the porch to help carry the cooler down the steps. “Good God, this thing is heavy. What all did you buy?”

“Provisions.”

Provi- what kind of vaguery was that?

He hefted it into the space between the seats, where it would be easily accessible. Then, he gave his father another much needed hug; Lydia received one from his dad as well, and they were on their way.

 


	4. Roach Motel

Stiles blinked to refocus his eyes. As the scenery of a whole lot of nothing passed by out his windows, he found himself missing trees. The sloping hills and scrub brushland along this stretch of Interstate 5 were not much to look at, frankly. In the passenger seat beside him, Lydia slept, and had been for the last hour.

In short, he was bored.

He’d always hated driving this route into Southern California for precisely this reason. Yet, Stiles was loath to argue with his dad when he’d suggested, nay, demanded that they first drive south until they hit 210 before heading East. It was January after all, and he’d never driven in heavy snow in his life. The thought of traveling on a route that took them through Salt Lake City, Southern Wyoming….Chicago in the dead of winter was horrifying. So instead?

They added a couple days to their trip so they could drive East across the Southwest through Albuquerque, Oklahoma City, St. Louis, Louisville, and Baltimore before they ultimately arrived in New York. It was safer and a hell of a lot less stressful, which given his and Lydia’s recent health crises, was a good thing.

Now, though? He wanted to claw his eyes out, and he was only halfway through this leg of the journey. Both of them had agreed to stop for the night in Palm Springs, but he was already sick of driving.

When he passed a sign showing a gas station at the next exit, he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he just needed to stretch his legs. As he pulled to a stop at Chevron, he topped off the tank, fingers drumming on the roof of the van as the gas pumped. Less than enthusiastic about Lydia’s choice of munchies (seriously... fruit salad on a road trip? He needed something he could eat one handed), he turned, and a smirk pulled upward from the corners of his mouth.

In-N-Out was the perfect road trip food.

He polished off his Double-Double in three minutes and twenty-seven seconds; he’d timed himself, and was back behind the wheel, strawberry shake in hand. Lydia was none the wiser.

The miles upon miles of boring highway scenery until Los Angeles were suddenly much less miserable.

 

***

 

As she slipped the keycard into the lock at the Jewel of the Desert motel, Lydia couldn’t help but scoff at the misnomer that turned out to be. The stucco was flaking off the walls in several places around the exterior. Someone had replaced the handrail on the stairwell wall had and reattached it in a different spot than the original. The holes of the previous railing had not been filled. She could hardly breathe past the overwhelming stench of old cigarette smoke when she checked in, and she had to admit that leaving Stiles practically asleep in the passenger seat might not have been the smartest idea. Honestly, she was just surprised he wasn’t kidnapped for organ harvesting while she waited for the keys.

From where he leaned against the wall beside the door, Stiles yawned, muttering something that sounded to the extent of he hoped they didn’t catch hepatitis from the shower. He stared at some point on the floor, perhaps he was looking out at the pool covered with a less than intact tarp. She didn’t think a place could ever be worse than the Glen Capri but here they were. All of a sudden, she heard him shriek as a scorpion ran across his shoe.

“Holy God!”

Lydia looked down at where the creature scurried down over the edge of the exterior corridor floor and out of sight. “Unlikely to hurt you. Of the fifteen hundred species of scorpions, only around twenty five post any threat to humans, and even then, the threat is minuscule. Their venom is usually not dangerous to us.”

“Yeah, well not being venomous does not exclude the painful sting, nor does it make them any less creepy.”

Finally, she managed to get the keycard to work and the door swung open. She stared at the room, feeling like just taking a step inside would require a decontamination shower. Why was this the only room available tonight?

Well, because of a trade convention, that’s why.

When her eyes fell upon the comforters and their questionable stains, she shuddered. “Ugh, it looks like someone definitely had sex on those, maybe threw up afterwards.”

Stiles stepped into the room behind her, tugging the cooler with him. “Lydia, I’m not so sure someone didn’t  _die_  on those things. You know what? I’ll be right back, okay?”

Before she could answer, the door slammed shut behind him as he left. Rather then set her bag on the floor and risk bedbugs. Oh god. Just the thought made her cringe. However, before she could dwell on the way her skin had begun to crawl with the mere idea of it, Stiles returned. In his arms, he held both his pillow and one of hers plus some bedding.

“Are you sure you want to risk your stuff?” she asked as he stripped the bed, conveniently leaving the flat sheet on to cover any hidden horrors that lie underneath.

“Yeah, I have really bad allergies to dust and that sort of thing. I have to get special sheets. These are bedbug proof.” Once the pillows were bare, he zipped each of them up in the pillow protectors. “I couldn’t find the rest of my bedding. Sorry. I’ll look for it in the morning. Only got one set of sheets and a blanket. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. Okay, let me rephrase that. I will try everything in my power to not snuggle you in my sle-”

She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s fine, Stiles. I’d rather share a bed with you than touch  _anything_  that was on the bed before.”

He gestured to the shower as if to say she had first dibs, which she gladly took.

The bathroom, though cleaner, still left much to be desired. Emphasis on much. The shower curtain was too small, and the bottom half of it had years of hard water stains marring it.

“I think I’m going to need a tetanus shot just from looking at it,” she muttered under her breath, thankful she’d brought her own towel, never liking the coarseness of the ones found in most hotels.

Still, the water was plenty hot, almost too hot, just the way she liked it. She let the spray beat down on her shoulders, stiff from a day cooped up in the car, and they still had several ahead of them. More if they decided to take a couple days in some stops.

She wanted to get to New York as soon as possible, but Stiles seemed to grow restless in a car for too long. That much, she could understand.

 

***

 

Stiles sighed, “Anyway, D. You should see this dump we’re staying in tonight. It’s like a Hepatitis diagnosis waiting to happen.”

His heart stumbled in his chest at the sound of Derek’s soft chuckle carrying through the line. “You're really sparing no expense on this trip are you?”

“Oh shut up, asshole.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he said the insult. “There was some kind of convention in town. This was the only room available. Lydia wanted to stay in a spa resort, and you know what? I did too. A massage would feel amazing right about now.”

“Well, I’ll just have to take you to this great place near me. They have a fantastic relaxation massage.”

His mouth hung open for a moment. Was he reading too much into it or did Derek ask him on a date? The thought of which was not something he was prepared to deal with, especially not in  _this_ place.  _Change topic. Danger, Stiles. Danger_. “ _You_  get massages?”

“Don’t laugh, but... my therapist suggested it might help. It does. Let’s me take my mind off everything for a little while.”

Part of him was a little hurt that Derek assumed he’d find self-betterment amusing. Another part of him- well, Stiles knew he often spoke before thinking. “I wouldn’t laugh at you, not for going to therapy. I had to see a counselor after my mom died. If it helps you, then good. I’m glad you’re trying to let go of all that weight on your shoulders. You’re too young for that. Hell,  _anyone_  would be.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” and his voice was soft, almost fond. A lump rose in Stiles' throat.  He felt an intense urge to reach through the phone and just caress his cheek.

But then…

No matter how he did things, even if  _either_ of them or both were even interested in him romantically, someone was getting hurt. Well, two people. He was sure however he played his hand, his heart would break in some way.

“Stiles? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” The way his voice cracked gave too much away; he was sure of it.

“Hey? Are you okay? And please don’t try to evade my question. Please.”

He screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I have a lot on my mind right now, and I don’t know if I am able to talk about it or through it yet. Is it okay if I ask you to not press further tonight?”

“Of course it is.” There was no way to mistake the raw concern in Derek’s voice in that moment. “Get some sleep, Stiles. Lydia too. I’m sure you’re both exhausted.”

“Yeah. Talk to you tomorrow night?”

“Sure. I’ll wait up for it.”

They said their goodbyes, and Stiles curled his hand around his phone and pressed it to his mouth.. Before he realized it, fat tears tracked down his cheeks, and he shuddered with a silent sob.

Rather than wait for Lydia to finish in the shower so he could have a go, he dressed for bed. Then, he turned the nightstand lamp down to its dimmest setting, and curled up under the thin blanket he’d found in the van.

When Lydia finally emerged from the bathroom, he pretended to be asleep rather than let her work her charms and get him to talk.

The bed dipped down when she crawled in beside him, and he expected her to turn the lamp off right away. Instead, it remained on for several minutes, while he focused on his breathing, trying to make it as even as possible

 

***

 

Despite the late hour and the fact he and Stiles had just said their goodbyes less than ten minutes prior, Derek found himself surprised that his phone rang once more. No sooner had he answered, then he found Lydia’s dulcet, albeit slightly judgmental tones filtering through the phone.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nice to talk to you too, Lydia. I asked if he was okay, because he sounded upset, but he said he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t press the issue. Why?”

Her heavy sigh was telling. “Because when I came out of the shower, he pretended he was asleep, even though I  _know_  he wasn’t, and he was trying to be as quiet as he could be to hide the very obvious fact he was crying. I knew he’d been talking to you. So... did he tell you anything?”

“About what?”

“Feelings.”

“Feelings? Way to be vague, Lydia.”

“You know of the ‘all-consuming love type’?”

“No. There was no tal-”

Wait what? Why would Stiles be talking to him about… “You think he knows?”

“That you’re in love with him? No, which is why- Oh, shit. I meant-”

He rubbed his temples. It was far too late for him to follow the logic and direction of her broken off sentences. “Stop. Just say it. He doesn’t feel the same, and the guilt of it is eating away at him.”

The sound of her cackle was mostly cut off by the noise of a passing car.

“Where are you?”

“In the moving van. You think I would be having this conversation in the same room as him? But no. On the contrary, Derek.” She breathed, muttering about how she was going to hell for this before returning her attention back to the phone call. “I was talking about  _his_  feelings for you. The two of you, as soon as we get to New York need to sit down and have a grown up conversation and put an end to this ridiculous mutual pining nonsense you have going on.”

For a moment, Derek felt like he’d been kicked by a horse with the way all his breath rushed out of him at once. Stiles wasn’t feeling guilty about not sharing romantic feelings? “Lydia, I need to get some sleep. I have class in the morning. But I will. I mean, I will make sure we have that talk. G’night.”

“Night, Derek.”

He ended the call and lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to process this new information. When he thought his affection was unrequited, it was easy. Okay, it was  _easier_  to pretend that he wasn’t in love with his best friend than it would ever have been to just tell him. Even though an entire country separated them, Derek couldn’t bear the thought of his confession driving a wedge between one of the few friendships he had.

Now though?

It was terrifying. What would Derek say? Would he remain tight-lipped and just kiss him? That sounded like  a winning plan, or at least a winning plan for him where his usual plans fell apart almost as soon as he got them.

With the new information bouncing around in his head, he doubted he’d be getting any sleep at all tonight.

 

 

 


	5. Insomnia and Inebriation

Stiles’ shuddering sigh could have been heard on the moon, and the way the bed shook as he flailed awake in the dark, roused Lydia as well. For a moment, she considered going back to sleep.  Once he sat up beside her, she abandoned all hope for a decent night’s sleep.

Since their night in Hepatitis Hotel, they’d stuck with the single queen bed accommodation.. It was cheaper, easier, and you know what? She missed sharing a bed with someone. So there.

Their stay in New Mexico was nicer, even if the Geronimo Ranch was the tackiest, most culturally appropriative monstrosity she’d ever seen. The inn’s facade looked like a log lodge or cabin, but well, Stiles had tapped on the outer wall and declared them made of composite materials. The carpets and wall tapestries had traditional Aztec motifs upon them, but the whiter than white owners, Melvin and Nancy could have been poster children for Coppertone.

The pottery decor in hers and Stiles’ room was made in China. So clearly, authenticity was not a high priority for the owners.

Still, the room was clean, did  _not_  smell of stale cigarettes, nor did she feel like she’d need a Tetanus booster just from sitting on the bed. So there was that. They’d stayed two nights, both of them too achy from the long travel to feel like driving the next day.

 Stiles, it seemed, was having trouble with the new surroundings each night, because if he thought Lydia hadn’t noticed the obvious lack of sleep and dark circles under his eyes, well he was mistaken. As such, she’d driven the entire leg of the trip to Oklahoma City.

Now though, as she sat up and rubbed his shoulder next to him in the wrought iron bed they shared at the Silver Willow Bed and Breakfast, there was no way he could hide it anymore.

He covered her hand upon his shoulder with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “How do you do it?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep, but breaking from emotion as well.

“Do what?”

His chest heaved; he was still shaken from whatever had roused him in the first place. “Deal with the nightmares?”

“I don’t get them that often. I may not be able to ignore the voices of the dead when I’m awake, but at night, I guess my brain just shuts off.”

He barked out a small, wet laugh. “Lucky. They’re... crippling.”

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, coaxing him to lay back with her on the bed.

He rolled onto his side to face her. “It’s not like it’s the same dream all the time. Well usually it isn’t. Lately, ever since our most recent near-death experience, I just keep seeing that massive piece of glass in my chest, and then I don’t make it. I watch my dad bury me, watch my death kill him slowly, one day and one bottle at a time. And... it’s worse than the nightmares I had after my mom died, when I was convinced I’d killed her, because that’s what she’d told me during one of her episodes, that it was my fault.”

Lydia took his hands in her own. “Oh, Sweetie. You can’t do that to yourself.”

“I know. That night at your party with the wolfsbane? I hallucinated my dad blaming me too. My subconscious hates my guts I guess.”

“Maybe you should look up the name of a counselor in the know about the supernatural when we get to New York. It would do you some good to talk to someone about it.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll just go see Derek’s, get myself a massage too.”

“Or you could just ask him for one. You’d be in heaven.”

Even in the pitch black, she didn’t miss the way he stiffened beside her. Should she tell him how Derek felt, since she’d accidentally blabbed to Derek? Yes. She should.

“He loves you, too, you know.”

The rigidity his body had taken on only moments before vanished as soon as Stiles turned onto his back, breaking out into body heaving laughter that shook the mattress like it was equipped with Magic Fingers. “Of course he does.”

“What is so funny? Or is this happy hysterics?”

“No,” he said covering his face with his hands, the laughter giving way to sobs in seconds, “it’s just my fucking bad luck.”

Sensing he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Lydia scooted close to him and rubbed soothing circles on his chest. “I don’t understand. There’s no fear of rejection, Stiles. All you have to do is go up to him and tell him.”

He tore his hands away from his face and flung his arms over his head, wincing when his knuckles smacked against the metal headboard. “It’s not that simple, Lyds.”

“Sure it i-”

“No, no, no,” he tapped his forehead, “I’m just confused. Can we just drop it and…”

“Platonic snuggles?”

“Yeah.”

She shoved at his shoulder, rolling him to face away from her and spooned up behind him. “How’s this?”

“Better, yeah, it’s better.”

It took another fifteen minutes before she felt him relax enough to drift back to sleep. If he was lucky, maybe he’d make it through the rest of the night without a nightmare.

 

***

 

“Son of a bitch!” Derek pressed a hand to his bleeding shin. He’d been attempting to assemble the new bookshelves and computer desks he’d driven down to the IKEA over the weekend to buy.

Needless to say, as he waited for his accelerated healing to kick in, it wasn’t going well.

Let it never be said he learned better through pictures. “Oh for crying out loud! Is ‘A’ the 2 ½” screws or the 2” ones?” In frustration, he stood and booted a hunk of styrofoam across the living room.

So he’d exaggerated a bit when he told Stiles their rooms were already furnished. And by a bit he meant entirely. The rooms were completely empty except for some storage, but come on. They’d be ready to go before the two of them arrived. They needn’t know he’d been lying through his teeth when he said it.

Eventually, he finished the shelves, and while they didn’t look terrible, they didn’t look great. He hoped Lydia wouldn’t notice, or at the least, she wouldn’t say anything. The desks, well now, they took twice as long, and he’d just have to paint them to hide the flaws he’d put into the wood. What was it those shows on HGTV called it? Distressing wood gave it character.

That. He’d do that.

He retreated into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge. Though its alcohol would have no effect on him. It sure hit the spot on his thirst after all his hard work. He took a deep breath, nose wrinkling at the faint remnants of paint odor emanating from the other bedrooms.

The cans said low to no odor, but he wagered their claims hadn’t been tested with werewolf sense of smell. Oh well, he’d deal. Fresh coats of paint in colors chosen especially for each of them would add a sense of home. In a couple days, he’d be able to hang the art he’d selected up on the wall.

Over the course of the last month, his condo, which had until now, been spartan in its decor, began to look like a home. He wondered why he was putting so much effort into it, and whether it had everything to do with his feelings for Stiles. Why then did he go the extra mile for Lydia? She and Derek were friends, of course they were, but…

Well, now that he thought of it, of the pack, Stiles and Lydia had been the only two to keep in touch with him. That had to count for something. Were they the only friends he had? Yeah, they probably were.

The realization hit him in the gut with such force that it took the breath right out of him. Well then, he had better make sure everything was perfect then.

 

***

 

Stiles flipped through the channels on the television in their room at the bed and breakfast. He wasn’t sure how Lydia had managed to talk him into staying for a third night, but seeing as neither of them were on a strict time line in getting to New York, enjoying themselves wasn’t entirely out of the question.

God, there was nothing on TV. Lydia had left a little over an hour ago on a dinner run, and he was dying of boredom. He rolled onto his back, letting his head drop over the edge of the bed and watched the channels flip by upside down. Perhaps a change in perspective was the key to curing his entertainment malaise, but nope.

Tuesday night broadcast programming was just as bad when viewed upside down.

The door flying open, striking the coiled stopper on the wall and sending a BOING throughout the room startled him. He looked towards the door to see Lydia standing there, two bags of takeout in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other.

“That’s not conspicuous at all is it?” The sarcasm dripped from his words.

She set the bags down on the table and flopped onto the bed next to him. “The perks of having an expertly crafted fake and being stuck in the middle of nowhere for the night.”

“Stuck?” He rolled over and set up. “You’re the one who suggested we extend our stay. So, what did you bring me?”

“It’s Chinese take-out. General Tso’s with lo mein and an order of pork egg rolls. Did I get that right?” she asked, taking her order of Buddha’s Delight from the bag. “Come, sit.” She patted the space across from her at the small table.

Stiles looked in the booze bag, because there was no way there was  _anything_  else in it and frowned at the selection. “Lyds, I know you like it, but I hate to break it to you, these bottles all have corks, none of those fancy twist offs.”

“Fret not. I am nothing if not prepared,” she smirked as she pulled her keys from her purse where he noticed the one and only key chain on it: a shark corkscrew.

“That’s...well I don’t know what that is.” He took the device from her and popped the cork before unwrapping each of the Solo cups the bed and breakfast innkeepers provided with the ice bucket. He poured a generous helping for Lydia. “You wouldn’t happen to have hidden a bottle of Jack in the van would you?”

“God no. Don’t be a negative Nate, Stiles. Have some. You look like you need it far more than I do.” Mirroring her own glass, she poured him a similar amount.

Full bellies and three glasses of wine each later, they both lounged on the bed in their pajamas, the pretense of cups long abandoned as they passed the second bottle back and forth between them, taking swigs straight from the bottle. Reruns of  _America’s Next Top Model_  played on the TV, and they’d turned the show into a drinking game.

“Okay. I got a new rule, Lyds. Next time Brittany cries, we drink.”

She licked her lips. “Deal. But I have a feeling we are gonna get so drunk. She looks like a total sobfest.”

As the episode turned into two and then three more, Stiles turned around on the bed so that his head lie at the foot, propped up by a pillow. He was enjoying the pleasant buzz he had going on, and by the looks of Lydia, she had a similar state of inebriation going on. “You know what would be awesome right now?”

“A massage from a ridiculously hot man?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I‘d so be down for that, especially one with a healthy growth of dark stubble and a body cut from marble, maybe one in tune with his animalistic side.”

“You and me both, Stiles.”

He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at her, but said nothing else. “Actually, no. A curly straw.”

“A what?” she giggled, which in turn made him burst out laughing.

“Curly straw, you know, one of those really long ones that split into two straws. Then, we could sit the wine on the floor and not even need to sit up to drink. If you ask me, it’s genius.”

Still overcome with the humor of his statement, she gave him a playful punch in the arm, which he totally played up for the proverbial camera.

“You wound me. My delicate porcelain skin will bruise from that.”

“Oh if it’s bruises you want, I have suggestions for better locations for them.”

“Is that so, Miss Martin? You may be the best friend I have, and I may be in love with you, but I think that is a level of familiarity beyond even us.”

No longer laughing, she sat up and blinked at him several times. “You are? I thought… what about Derek?”

“Now you see why I’m confused. Someone’s getting hurt no matter what I do.” He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it should just be me. I’m good at being the fall guy, getting hurt for the sake of others.” From beside him on the bed, he grabbed Lydia’s pillow. Then, he screamed into it.

When he removed the pillow, he opened his mouth to tell her not to worry about it, that he promised not to make it weird, when he heard one of the models on TV break down crying. It was enough to grab his attention. “Aw shit. Look at Brittany. Girl’s losin’ it, Lyds. Time to drink.”

Before he could reach the bottle, Lydia had leaned in and grabbed his wrist. “I have a better idea.” She pressed a kiss to his lips.

Frozen in shock, Stiles couldn’t think, much less kiss back in that instant, and Lydia seemed to decide she’d made a mistake. She pulled back and began to apologize, but Stiles pulled her in close, kissing back with everything he had.

It didn’t take long for those pinot noir flavored kisses to catch fire, threatening to consume them. When Lydia went for the hem of his shirt, even though he was self-conscious about his new scars, his alcohol clouded brain didn’t dare tell his body to stop her. Once she had his shirt off over his head, she went for hers, and the sound he made when he found himself faced with all that skin and those bare breasts could only be described as undignified.

He must have stilled, because she took his face in her hands, turning it up so she could look at him.

He swallowed hard, reason returning only momentarily. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and licking her lips, but that didn’t stop her from grinding down on his lap and erection trapped in his boxer briefs, “we shouldn’t. Do you want to stop?”

“No fucking way.”

“Good. Me neither. I need this.”

He nodded emphatically. “Yeah me too. I don’t have…”

She crawled off his lap with a motion lacking any grace whatsoever and stumbled over to her purse. When she came back, she tossed the condom onto the bed. “A girl should always be prepared.”

“Good advice. Smart.”

In no time, she was back in his lap, and when the hell had she shed her pajama pants? From there, everything devolved into a frenzied and uncoordinated mess of limbs and bare skin. There were moments when Stiles wasn’t sure which direction was up, and he just... turned off his brain.

It was for the best.

 


	6. New Hometown

Trees and rolling hills of the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia flew by in a blur. Yet, if she kept her gaze trained out the front window, Lydia could appreciate the beauty of the barren trees and snow-capped evergreens interspersed throughout. Beside her, Stiles sang along softly the classic rock station playing through the speakers, the only non-country station whose signal came through strong enough to understand.

His mother, he’d told her as the song began to play, had been a big fan of Fleetwood Mac, and he’d grown up on the music.

She’d heard the song--of course she had--but Lydia had never paid attention to the lyrics before. Not really. There was something so appropriate of hearing him singing about being afraid of change about building his life around someone else knowing that his friendship with Scott now hung by only the thinnest of threads.

Children did get older. The two of them were testaments to that as they closed in on their destination. Only about a day remained until they reached New York.

Still, things had been tense since they’d left Missouri.. More accurately, they'd been since Stiles woke up the morning after, hungover, and panicked, shutting himself up inside the bathroom. He locked the door behind him. That left her no options to help besides talking to him through the door as he broke down on other other side, gasping for air and sobbing.

It was best, she’d decided after packing up their things and checking them out with the innkeepers, that she drove. Stiles was silent the entire drive through Illinois, finally speaking a few miles after they crossed into Indiana. Even then, it was only to tell her he needed to stop and take a piss.

When he returned, she had looked at him and could see the way all the wine they drank the night before was not helping his mood any. For a moment there, she’d wondered if perhaps he didn’t remember what had happened between them. So, she tested the waters. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No, but we should.”

Concerned that he was feeling needlessly guilty, she put him out of his misery. “I remember it. I said I wanted it, and so did you. I mean, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you regret it?” she’d asked.

“No. I mean should we have done that?  No, probably not, but since we both asked the other if they wanted to stop, and we both said no, it’s not that. With me... panic sometimes comes out of nowhere.” He had leaned his head against the passenger window and sighed. “Okay, that’s not entirely true. It just complicates things. Where do we go from here?”

Yesterday, she hadn’t had an answer for him. Somehow, staring out at great spans of scenery with little else to do but think, had a way of clearing even the muddiest minds. Spending the night curled in beside that same person in bed, where those kisses they shared weren’t stolen, or alcohol fueled, but freely given, helped too.

“Stiles, what happened-”

She watched his hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening with the force with which he held it.

“What are we? You and me? What did any of that mean?”

She shrugged. “I think it’s a coping mechanism. We’re both hurting and if I’m being honest... it helps. At least it helps me. Are you feeling a little better?”

His tongue clicked. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Why should it matter what we are? Why can’t we be friends that sleep together for the time being?”

The car tires crunched on the gravel along the shoulder as he pulled over. The road was fairly empty, and he hopped out of the car. For a moment, Lydia thought they were going to change drivers. That is, until Stiles walked around the car and stood, hands gripping the guardrail. The tense set of his shoulders gave little away, but he took a deep breath, once, then twice. On the third breath, he straightened and shouted out over the valley.

The echo of his pent up frustration continued for several seconds, and then... he began to laugh. After a minute or two, he waved her over, gesturing out over the vastness as if to say, “Now, your turn.”

Though she was reluctant to join him, she stood beside him, and instead of shouting, howled. Her wolf impression was comical at best, but he did the same. After a couple more times each, he pulled her into a hug, one she was glad for, because it meant things would be okay between them.

“So we’re good?”

He kissed her hair. “Yeah, but... I can't do just casual with you. So... I think it’s probably for the best that we don’t do that again under those or similar circumstances.”

She nodded against his chest. “Okay. I can respect that.” Reaching out, she grabbed the keys from him. "My turn. You look like you could use a nap.”

 

***

 

From the moment the text arrived saying that Stiles and Lydia were nearing the Queens Midtown Tunnel, his palms had been sweating, the likes of which he’d never experienced before.  Now, Derek found himself waiting outside his building like a nervous teenager about to go on his first date.

What should he say? Should he just blurt it out? Should he walk right up to Stiles, grab him by the shoulders and tell him how he felt? Yes. Definitely yes.

Actually doing it was a far different matter.

And so, he stood there, vibrating out of his skin with how many butterflies were zipping around in his stomach. For a brief moment, he wondered if perhaps he should just duck in the alley, shift into his wolf form, and the sit here on the sidewalk waiting for them. But it was only a brief moment. The thought of someone deciding he was a stray or a dangerous animal (well they would be correct about that part) and calling animal control on him was terrifying.

By the time the moving van came into view, Derek’s nerves had him so nauseated he thought he would lose his lunch all over the ground.

Thankfully, he didn’t, because the sight of Stiles when he climbed out of the passenger seat had his heart pounding in his chest, and not because of nerves. It was hard to believe,  but in the almost year since he’d seen him last, Stiles had grown taller. Derek thought that if they were to stand in front of each other, that perhaps they’d be the same height, maybe Stiles would be a touch taller. He’d filled out, lost any remaining baby fat in his cheeks.

No longer was he that kid who proclaimed himself 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. There was muscle there. Granted, it was lean and corded muscle, but Derek figured there were at least about fifteen pounds added to Stiles’ frame. A hint of stubble, just the barest, darkened his chin. He looked good.

No. He looked amazing. It was all he could do not to just run over and kiss that infuriating mouth of his.

Lydia finally vacated the driver’s seat and climbed out. “Hey Derek. You look good, really good. New York’s done wonders for you.”

He was sure he blushed at her words. It was one thing to have strangers compliment his looks, but it was another thing entirely when a friend did it, because he knew Lydia’s words had little to do with his appearance and a lot to do with the new lightness surrounding him. He knew she could see the weight of guilt had lifted off his shoulders and how he stood a little straighter.

But Stiles, as he came to stand in front of Derek, took a deep breath, and he looked as though being in Derek’s presence was physically painful. Hell, maybe it was. Derek, himself, had to admit the ache for him now burned hotter than ever before with him standing this close now that the barrier of Stiles’ age was no longer relevant. He stared at him, taking in all his features, memorizing them once more. Those bourbon colored eyes were just as maddening as he remembered, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him took over. He leaned in, his mouth unable to form words. So he went with his gut instinct and the look on Stiles’ face that wasn’t telling him to stop.

The moment their lips met, all those clichéd fireworks, erupted inside him. It was perfect, felt perfect. His fingers curled in the longer hair at the back of Stiles’ head, and the softness of Stiles’ mouth was enough to have him reeling. And yet…

Just as quickly as it had started, the kiss was over, Stiles breaking it and stepping back to stare at him. The little furrow between his brows that happened when he was distressed was hard set into his skin.

Derek’s stomach dropped.

“Why did you do that?” Stiles asked, breathless. He didn’t even give Derek a chance to respond before he walked around to the back of the van to grab a box. “Which one’s yours, and do I need your keys? Or is it open?”

Derek’s brain answered for him, though he wasn’t even aware of the words leaving his mouth, but they had. As Stiles disappeared into the lobby where the concierge knew to buzz him through the door, Derek stared at him, feeling as though he were about to burst into tears at this sudden rejection.

Instead, he turned to Lydia. “I thought you said he was in love with me.”

“He is, desperately so. You’re just…” she sighed, “not the only one, and he’s conflicted.”

“About what?”

“Well, we got drunk and had sex…”

“What?  How could you do that to me, Lydia? You know how I feel ab-”

“Takes two to tango, D. Like I said, we were drunk. Anyway, that’s not the point. I was telling you, in the interest of full disclosure.”

He watched her play with the hem of her blouse. “Well, I….thank you for telling me.”

“That’s not what he’s conflicted about though. You should have let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“I need to ask you something, and don’t feel obligated to say yes. I swear I am not fishing for compliments, but I’ve been thinking about this since we woke up the morning after.”

In his standard defense mechanism, Derek folded his arms across his chest. “Okay.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

What? What kind of question was that? “You’re very pretty, if that’s what you meant.”

“No, but thank you. I mean- well, are you into women? I know you’ve slept with them, but in your defense... well, two of them... we’re actually non-consensual encounters. Braeden was more about you trading sexual favors for her teaching you to shoot. So, are you interested in them?”

On instinct, he had his arms down by his side, curling his hands into fists and releasing them, at just the mere mention of Kate and Jennifer. He took a moment, to let the sensation that he would be sick subside, before answering her. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and fragile, “I like them.”

“And am I someone you could be interested in… sexually or at least romantically?”

“Lydia,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “just get to what you really want to say. Please. I need to go talk to him, smooth things over.”

“Fine. He’s in love with both of us, and in the interest of not hurting either of us, he’s willing to be Stiles, the way he always is with his own needs, and suffer alone. I was just trying to come up with a way that- I like him. Yes, he’s my best friend, and yes, his crush back in the day was too much. But... he saved my life, and he’s been there for me, and-”

Sensing that Stiles had worn off on her and she was about to go on a rambling rant, Derek put her out of her misery. “Yes, I’m sure I could.”

“And you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Let me handle this then?”

Handle what? In the interest of just not getting involved or saying things he’d regret, he simply nodded. He grabbed a couple boxes from the van and carried them up to the condo where he found the door to Stiles’ room shut and could hear the unmistakable sound of crying coming from within.

He rapped on the door. “Stiles? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you without asking. It was wrong of me. Just... I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship.” Or worse, make Stiles afraid of him.

“Did you mean it?” Stiles’ soft reply was barely audible, even for Derek.

“Did I mean my apology or did I mean the kiss?”

“Both.”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. And no, that was not a pity kiss. I meant it, more than I’ve meant anything in my life.”

The silence that followed stretched long and tenuous as Derek stood there, the two of them separated by a mere panel of wood. It might as well been an entire galaxy between them.

“I forgive you. Hell, I’m not even mad you kissed me without asking. Derek... I’d only be mad if you’d said it was out of pity. I’ve just... remember when I called you from Palm Springs? And I asked you not to push?”

Derek rested his head against the door, and part of him wished Stiles stood on the other side doing the same. “Yeah, I do.”

“It was about this,” and Stiles’ voice was much closer than it had been, the sound of his heart closer as well. “I’m, for lack of a better term, a heart divided without a compass.”

He closed his eyes. “If you need anything from me, let me know. I don’t want you suffering alone. I... I love you, and when you called and told me you were in the hospital, I would have been there in a heartbeat, if you hadn’t told me to stay away. You’re important to me, Stiles. Both you and Lydia are the most important people in my life. I just... don’t do this to yourself. I’ll support whatever choice you make.”

And with that, he retreated downstairs to continue bringing up boxes, each one heavier than the last, and he was positive it had nothing to do with the contents.

 


	7. Solution

When Lydia agreed to move with Stiles and into Derek’s condo, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected but  _this_  was not it. They’d been in Long Island for almost a month now, and she could count on one hand how many times she’d seen Stiles. He was supposed to be looking for a job to fill his time, to help with utilities, but she knew--without even asking--that Derek was paying for anything Stiles needed, paying for his part of utilities. She would feel insulted if she wasn’t growing increasingly concerned about Stiles’ mental health.

So, like she did every weekday evening when she returned from her job as a math tutor at the local community center, she’d rap on his door, invite him to have dinner with her and Derek, or to go out and explore the city with them. He almost always declined. The one time he had accepted, he had said maybe ten words the whole night. Neither her or Derek felt like they could tackle the elephant in the room: the dark circles under Stiles’ eyes and the pallor of his complexion.

While Stiles holed himself up in his room, either moping, or spiraling into depression (the latter made her sick to her stomach to even consider), she had come to find New York Derek, far different than Beacon Hills Derek. That was a change so good it filled her with such a lightness it was hard to describe.

For one thing?

He smiled more, smiled a lot. Talked more, especially about important stuff, and she could see the way that oppressive self-loathing he wore like a cloak for so many years had fallen away. Stiles had fell in love with Derek at his worst, and she well…  this surely wasn’t Derek’s best. Pre-fire Derek  _had_  to have that title in the bag, but New York Derek? He had to be a close second, and she’d fallen so hard and so fast she was surprised she didn’t have skinned knees.

It left her in an odd position, one strikingly similar to the one in which Stiles currently found himself. She’d lied to Derek when she’d said she liked Stiles. Well, understated it anyway. As it stood, the tension that hung unspoken, unmentioned in the air about the condo had finally become too much.

She couldn’t take it anymore. So, when she received no answer from Stiles once more, she retreated to the kitchen where she found Derek stirring the pasta dish he’d been cooking on the stove.

“Still won’t come out?” Derek smirked as his accidental double entendre. “Of his room. I know he’s told some people about being bisexual.”

“I knew what you meant,” Lydia said, shaking a bottle of wine in Derek’s direction, her unspoken way of asking if it was okay for her to have some.

Though he may have been old enough to buy them all the alcohol they could ever want, Derek had been rather strict on that front. When he shrugged and gave a small nod, she popped the cork. “You want some?”

“No. I’m not really a wine fan, to be honest. I bought that because I like to cook with a good wine. It tastes better to me than standard cooking wine. Thank you, for asking though.”

“You’re sure it’s okay that I have some?”

“Well, seeing as you have no car, and are currently in your pajamas, I don’t think one glass of wine is going to make you a danger to yourself or others...  _one_  glass. That’s all though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well aren’t you a stern drill sergeant! I don’t want to be drunk, just want to calm my nerves.”

He dished up a couple plates of food, then filled a bowl. “Why would you need to calm your nerves?” he asked before carrying the bowl of food down the hall with a glass of water.

Though Stiles wouldn’t eat with them, he was at least still eating. So that was good.

The pair of them sat and ate on the couch while they watched a movie. When Lydia set down her empty plate and curled into Derek’s side, throwing the blanket over both of them, she couldn’t help the tiny smile playing on her lips when he didn’t move. Not only that, she actually felt him sink into the cushions a little more, as though the contact was something he’d needed but been afraid to ask for.

By the time the credits had begun to roll, she’d long since shifted, stretching out on the empty cushions and rested her head on Derek’s thigh. Seemingly on instinct, his fingers carded through her hair. Neither of them moved as the menu screen came back on. “Do you want to watch-”

“You’re... definitely someone I’m interested in, someone I want in  _that_  way,” he said, unprompted, his voice, whisper soft.

She sat up and stared at him a long minute before speaking. “I’m sensing there is a ‘but’ in there.”

“It won't change how I feel about him, though. That’s a… it’s never leaving.”

Leaning forward, she cupped his chin with both hands and kissed his forehead. “It doesn’t have to. Can you just... wait here a minute?”

She padded down the hall, opening Stiles’ door. It wasn’t even ten, and yet, he was asleep. That didn’t surprise her though. She switched off the TV and crawled in bed beside him. Her movements roused him.

“Lyds?” he croaked out, his voice rough with sleep. “‘s everything okay?”

She stroked his cheek. “I could ask the same thing to you.”

Even in the dim light the street lamp outside gave, she could see him lick his lips. “No. Everything is falling apart. You know me. I tried to just ignore my problem, and hope it went away.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“It’s not. It’s... ignoring my feelings isn't doing anything but making things worse. I don’t want to choose, and that is so selfish, but not picking is killing me Lyds. I don’t want to hurt either of you, but I don’t want to hurt anymore either. I just can-”

“If I said you didn’t have to, would you believe me?”

“What?”

She closed the distance between them, and this kiss was nothing like the drunken and uncoordinated one they shared before. It was soft, warm... tender. She melted into it, but didn’t dare take it further. The next move was one he was going to have to make on his own.

When he opened his mouth to speak, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Stiles, stop doing this to yourself. I can’t make the choice for you, but I am giving you a third option. Come on.”

Reluctantly, he let her pull him out of bed and into the living room where Derek sat waiting.

“Now, sit.” She waited until Stiles complied before continuing. “Good. I want you two to talk. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She smirked as she walked away.

 

***

 

Stiles stared down at his hands and the loose thread they played with on the blanket. Dozens of words filled his mouth, desperate to be said, but he couldn’t get them to tumble from his lips. Thankfully, Derek, of all people spoke first.

“I’ve missed you. I thought when you first stepped out of the van, that we’d pick up that easy camaraderie we had finally achieved before I left. But... are you okay? I’ve been worried. Still, I know as well as anyone, no one can make you talk when you don’t want to, to socialize when you don’t want, no one can fix you if you don’t want them to.”

“I’m not depressed, if that’s what you’re implying. I was hiding from my problems.”

“I think it’s a good time you tell me what those are.”

Stiles took a shaky breath. “What do you do when you’re in love with two people, who are your closest friends, and you don’t want to ruin things?”

“Stiles, you wouldn’t ruin things between us, no matter what you decided.”

He nodded, and found a small bit of courage blooming in his chest. “I hear you and Lydia out here all the time, laughing, and... I like your laugh, Derek. It suits you. I-”

“What?”

“I would really like to kiss you right now.”

“And I would really like that.”

He tried to keep it tender between them, but Stiles found that once he’d taken that first step, the tentative press of lips to Derek’s, the door blew off its hinges, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He grew greedy and emboldened far quicker than could even remotely be considered dignified, but he couldn’t help himself. This kiss was years in the making.

Derek’s broad hands splayed across his back, feverish and firm. He arched into them, and didn’t offer any resistance when Derek pulled him into his lap. Desperate words of intense emotion were mumbled into each other’s lips and skin, and for a moment, he forgot about Lydia…

Not long enough though, because that apprehension rushed back in just as quickly as it fled. Yet, when he tried to pull away, he found himself held in place.

“Don’t go, Stiles, please.”

He was about to say he couldn’t do this, not with Lydia right there, not when he had unresolved feelings. But... the lightest of feather-soft kisses brushed the back of his neck. The fruity aroma of Lydia’s shampoo flooded his nostrils just before her hands, much smaller than Derek’s, caressed his cheek.

He turned his head just enough to see her staring at Derek and watched as a wordless conversation took place between them. Derek gave her a little nod. Then, all her attention was back on him. He felt her hot breath on the shell of his ear before he heard her say a word.

“If you want me to stop and leave you and Derek alone, just tell me.  I’ll go back in my room and pretend I was never here. If this is you choosing Derek over me, I will respect that and move on. _But_ , if you want, that problem that’s been wrecking you for weeks now, can just go away. You don’t have to choose between us. We’re _both_  in if you are.”

His heart skidded to a stop in his chest, and he looked over his shoulder at her. “Wh... w... wha... all three of us... together, but you- But he… I,” he licked his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “I never realized that was even an option.”

 

Derek’s voice captured his attention. “It wasn’t, or at least, wouldn’t have been if Lydia hadn’t suggested it. It’s not a thing most people would be open to.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re a werewolf. Aren’t you guys very possessive of your partners, not wanting to share your mates and all that?”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile back at Derek’s exasperated eye roll.

“Stiles, how many times have I told you that Google is not a reliable source of information about Werewolves? Mates? That isn’t a thing that exists.”

“So,” Lydia said, her breath once more ghosting over his skin, “we’re giving you all the power in this decision. What do you say?”

He nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes, oh God yes, so many yeses.”

“Good, now come on. Let’s go snuggle in Derek’s bed and watch trash TV.”

“What? No more kissing? I wan-” This time Derek was the one to shush him with a finger to his lips.

“We’ll get there. If we want this to work, we can’t rush things physically,” she said. “We have to get a feel for the relationship, define things, before that happens.”

“But... oh God, Lydia, you say that, but have you kissed him?” He pointed to Derek, “Because you wouldn’t be saying that if you had. He’s an  _amazing_ kisser.”

Was that… “Derek, are you blushing?”

“Maybe. Come on.”

Stiles let Lydia drag him into Derek’s room, and he let himself be pushed down onto the bed, right smack dab in the middle of it, and when each of them curled around him, he thought his heart would surely burst.

If there was a feeling better than falling asleep in a tangled mess of loving arms, he didn’t know it.

 

 


	8. Happiness

Small carry-on suitcase in hand, John waited for his turn to deplane at La Guardia. He had to admit he was surprised to come home from a long shift to find the email from Stiles. In it, his son had attached an itinerary for a flight to New York over Memorial Day weekend. He was even more surprised to find he'd been miraculously given a long weekend off. No doubt Stiles had a hand in arranging that. He was, however, not surprised in the least that his son knew his social security number in order to buy him the ticket. Nor was he surprised when Stiles confessed that Derek was the one to purchase said ticket.

His son could be quite resourceful and persuasive when need be. John made a mental note to thank Hale when he saw them.

The march off the plane and down the tunnel into the concourse was molasses slow, but he thought that, perhaps, it was his anticipation at seeing Stiles for the first time in months that made time slow to a crawl. In all his son's eighteen years, John had never spent more than two weeks away from him, and the nearly half a year apart was the longest time in his life.

Longest and fraught with parental concern, especially in those first few weeks. Not only could he hear the sadness in Stiles’ voice back then, but he could see it in his face during their twice weekly Skype conversations. It got so bad, John had almost hopped on a plane to New York back then. The only thing that stopped him was Stiles’ insistence that he'd be fine.

Lately though, John couldn't believe the difference in his son's voice, his face, when they spoke. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard him sound so carefree, so happy. When he'd asked what that was about, Stiles had played coy, and just said things were going well, great even.

Satisfied with his answer, John didn't pry. Stiles would come to him when he was ready.

Finally, he stepped from the tunnel into the concourse and made his way to the arrivals gate. He scanned the small crowd until he found Stiles wearing the biggest smile he'd seen in a long time. His son wasted no time in wrapping him in a tight embrace.

What could he say?  Stilinski men were and always had been quite the huggers.

“I missed you, kiddo. The house is too quiet without you in it.”

He felt Stiles chuckle into his shoulder. “Told you so.”

When they broke apart John eyed his son up and down, taking him in, inspecting him just to be sure with his own eyes that he was doing well. It was only then he noticed that when he'd released him, Stiles had stepped back between Derek and Lydia where each of them held one of his hands with nary an inch of space separating them.

Now look, John may not be an expert on supernatural dealings or the newest technology, but if there was one thing he was an expert on, it was people. He put all the pieces together lightning fast. “Oh.”

Apprehension crept into Stiles’ face, and John found he wanted that expression as far from his son as possible. Hell, if it were up to him, he'd never see it there again.

He stopped the rumination that was surely taking place in Stiles’ head before it got too bad. “Are you happy? Do they make you happy?”

The blinding smile returned to Stiles’ face. “Yeah, Pops, I am.”

“Then so am I. Gotta say, son, this wasn't what I meant when I told you to be brave.”

Stiles shrugged. “You know me, I never do things the way you expect. I thrive on the unexpected.”

Beside him, Derek snorted in amusement. Lydia rolled her eyes. Clearly, he'd just walked into an inside joke he didn't understand.

John was more than okay with that.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/).


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